Sparks will Fly
by Dustpool
Summary: Beetee Techon hasn't liked technology since it mercilessly tore his brother from him in the Hunger Games. Now his chance has come to either join him, or show everyone what he's really worth: The point of the matter is, will sparks fly? /I do not own the Hunger Games. This is a rewrite.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello my lovelies! Yes, this is rewritten and hopefully improved! Enjoy!**

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><p>Beetee Techon did not have an alarm clock.<p>

He didn't believe in the things, did not think his senses dumb enough that they would not wake him in the morning. The idea of leaving it to a lump of iron concerned him, worried his thoughts that the ringing would only bring bad memories:

_"Mama! Look! It's Gear! Gear's on TV!"_

_"That's... that's lovely, sweetie," his mother replied with curious dread lacing her fine, silky tone. "Sweetie, could you please turn the TV off..."_

_"But Mama! Gear! Gear is on the TV! Mama! He has a knife!"_

_"Beetee! Turn the television off!" his mother yelled with little remorse._

_"But Mama-" She took the remote from his small hands and switched the screen to static just as a shadow fell over Gear's face and a horrible fear filled his young eyes._

Beetee wiped a tear from his eye, not even realising he'd been showing such emotions.

_The young boy had turned the TV on later that evening when his mother had gone to bed and his father still wasn't home from the factory._

_He'd listened to the woman on the screen talking about those things - what were they? Hungry Games? Beetee consciously licked his lips. "Now I'm hungry again," he said aloud with a childish giggle, remembering the simple dinner he and Mama had had._

_He turned back to the television, the woman talking to another person, a man. Oh! Beetee had seen him before! He'd interviewed Gear, though Mama had let him watch it, she hadn't said why his older, stronger brother was stuttering and looked scared. A small cut craved into his cheek. Mama didn't say why._

_Beetee turned the volume up a little bit more and then switched on the subtitles, reading underneath. He yawned; it _was _passed his bedtime._

_"So," the woman started, "what did you think of today's deaths, Crimson?" she asked with an air to her high-pitched words._

_"I couldn't stand seeing district 4 _drowning_. They're from the very place where water is plentiful." A laugh came from somewhere and Beetee wrinkled his nose, looking around like there'd be a huge amount of people, but there wasn't - it must be on the TV._

_The woman nodded, and Beetee then listened to how they discussed another few tributes. Then, something bad happened that twisted his tummy into knots._

_"And what about this boy?" The woman pointed towards a picture of a tall, lanky boy with wide, colourless eyes filled with horror._

_"Gear!" Beetee cheered in happiness of seeing his brother. "I can't wait until-" His grin suddenly dropped as the man began speaking._

_"Yes, a real shame. It almost looked as if he might be our victor this year. Can we play the clip?" He looked around the studio, clicking his fingers to be recognised._

_The clip began to play, taking up the whole screen. Beetee watched in dread as an older boy lunged at Gear and heaved a sword into his gut. The child threw his hands across his mouth to stop himself from screaming, Mama was asleep after all._

_But when his father came home that evening, having already heard the news, he found his youngest - and now only - son curled up in front of the TV clenching Gear's old jacket to his chest._

A striking blonde from district 1, obviously, had gone on to win; she'd lived it up in the Capitol, her hair turning a soaked pink-purple, her breasts larger with implants. Beetee cringed when he thought about her and the laughter she'd granted him when she'd stared him in the eye when she'd visited his district.

Slowly but surely, Beetee sat up in bed, the thin blanket of dulled grey reflecting a dreary light around his room from the sickly-coloured sun in the too blue sky.

No day could be worse than this, he knew it. Today was the reaping; two children would be torn from their families to live the life of luxury before they're sent to their death. A shiver ran down his spine as he reached forwards to turn on the light, glaring at the blob that had no shade.

He _hated_ technology.

What was there to like? It had mercilessly torn his brother from him, broken Beetee down year by year as he'd grown closer to the reaping, closer to his 17th birthday, just awaiting his time to stand up and forcefully yell: "I volunteer!"

And today was that day.


	2. Chapter 2

Beetee padded down the stairs, running his fingers down the handrail and stomping his feet without worry of waking anyone. His mother and father wouldn't be home. They'd still be at the bar, trying to sober up in time to realise what day it was. They wouldn't have time. They'd find the house empty, void of life.

He nosily opened the door to the kitchen and switched on the overhead light, surprise stopping him in his tracks as he noticed a familiar woman standing beside the coffee machine, aimlessly stirring her steaming mug of milky liquid. A tired smirk curled on her lips with one eyebrow raised in a supposed sexy manner. "Good morning, _Buzzy_."

Beetee clenched his fists and slammed the door behind him, treading heavily towards the coffee machine where he all but shoved her to one side, though she took it as no surprise and moved with a faint chuckle to take her seat at the kitchen table. "Now, now, _Mama_ wouldn't like that, would she?" She continued to stir her coffee, leaning her unclothed elbow on the table. "_Would_ she?"

"Shut up Dolly!" Beetee snapped, raising a fist.

But he had no time to prove the strength of his words before the woman had him against the counter, his head inches away from the boiling cup of coffee he'd already poured. "Don't give me that type of filthy _attitude!_ I'm not your _mother!_" She pressed down on his back harder than before, slipping nimble fingers around his neck.

"Alright! _Alright!_" Beetee retorted, hooking his ankle around hers and quickly hiking it up, loosening her hold on him in mere seconds as she tripped to the side, but regained her balance in time to stop from landing on the floor. "Who's the smartarse now?"

"Still me." Another smile appeared on her face as she drifted back towards her seat, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "C'mon Buzzy, sit down and let's chat 'bout this shit."

Beetee grabbed his coffee, deciding not to add milk. He breathed out heavily, lungs heaving as he grabbed the inhaler sitting in the middle of the oak-wood table. "Thanks," he muttered, pulling out a chair while uncapping the small device to place it against his lips and breathe in. "Alright, what is it you're wanting to discuss?"

Dolly shrugged her shoulders as she carefully evened out her dress, the grey cloth silky under her rough fingertips. "The Games, of course." The subject was sore and cold, her once loud and irritating voice downing to a dreaded whisper. "Put your glasses on."

Beetee fished the wire-framed glasses from his pocket, shoving them up his nose. "Look, Doll, I know what you're going to say and-"

"-I can't _wait_ to mentor you."  
>"-please don't go through with it. But I..." He trailed off.<p>

Surprise shone in Beetee's eyes as Dolly spoke first, her lips pursed. "Wait, what?" he spat, eyebrows raised. "But-but the other day? And-and you? You-you said I-You... You were trying to _not_ make me volunteer!"

"Yes, well, I've changed my mind, Buzzy! I can't _wait_ to see you win!"

His eyes darkened at her happy, pleased tone. "Doll... I... I don't think I'll come home - for goodness sakes, I'm from district 3 and am weak as hell. There's no bloody way I'll make it."

The mentor felt a sorrow in her chest, her eyes grave. She let out a low sigh and grabbed her coffee, deciding to avoid the topic, even though she'd started it. "I... Where are your parents? I thought they'd be here. I had to break in."

Beetee rolled his eyes. "Getting drunk," he replied in a bitter tone, glancing towards the door which led to the world outside, a place he quite rightly hated. He spent most of his time in his room, reading. "Thanks for breaking the lock."

"Oh, don't worry 'bout it," Dolly replied, beckoning Beetee to his feet as she left her mug on the table. "Wanna go for a walk?"

"The Reaping's in less than an hour."

Dolly's blue eyes narrowed as she flicked her blonde hair over her shoulders, hands resting on her hips. "Well, we can _walk_ there, then!" she snapped, raising a hand before she quickly dropped it to her side, clenching and unclenching her fist. "C'mon, Buzzy."

Beetee was quick to leave his home, but not before he grabbed the jacket off the back of his chair - Gear's old jacket; it was tattered now, but it kept him warm.

"Buzzy!"

"Alright, alright!"

Beetee closed the door behind him even though it wouldn't stay in place. The lock was blackened from the use of fire, a rock sitting bluntly next to the path. He grumbled and shoved it behind the door, sitting it there.

Dolly's voice began to get harsher as he took more and more time to follow, his breathing shallow when he finally caught up. "Use your bloody inhaler."

"I am! I am!" Beetee responded with a huff as he pushed his glasses back up his nose and continued forwards, medium-length hair unkempt and unwashed.

Dolly eyed his the untidy mess. "The Capitol will have a field day with you," she stated, slowing her pace to a firm walk beside the male, reaching up to softly pat the black hair in hopes of getting the dust out. "When'd you last bathe?"

"A week ago," Beetee replied, holding his head high in boyish pride, curling his lip back in hostility. "But that's not important, Dolly." He lowered his voice, eyes skimming the sidewalk as he began to notice a few families already leaving for the Reaping. "What can you tell me? About-about volunteering."

She gave a full-bodied shrug, leaving naught room for much chatter. "Look, I can't begin mentoring you until you're on the train." She looked sideways. "It's dangerous, Buzzy."

"For me, or for you?" Beetee replied in a hushed voice, slipping his hands into his pockets so he wouldn't start to fidget, a horrible habit he'd gotten from his brother.

"Both of us." Dolly's dress didn't have pockets and it left her with insecurities, crossing her arms high on her chest. She didn't like dresses, they made her feel weak and on-show; nothing hidden. "No matter what happens, you're going to volunteer, correct?"

"Correct." Beetee nodded his head a number of times, messy hair flinging across his pale face. "No matter who is picked, I'll throw my hand up and shout the good ol' 'I volunteer!'."

"Great, they'll love it. Just smile and act happy for the cameras." They were almost there, and time had sped up, children crowding the sign-in area as they said goodbye to their mothers, fathers, siblings or guardians.

The square, a normally depressing place with an open factory right behind it, was colourful and bold; ribbons of red and green, blue and purple tied high in the dusty trees that had long lost their life. Beetee swallowed and carefully took another poof of his inhaler, waiting ten seconds before letting out a breath with a trail of white smoke to follow. _Should of probably left that a little longer_, he thought with an air of annoyance.

Behind the thin glass of his spectacles, Beetee watched a few of the girls sign in, but his main attention was focused on a few of the men, tall and hardy - how they were like _that_ in district 3 was beyond the seventeen-year-old's wisdom, watching their chests move with little to no effect.

He blinked and looked away, his heart beginning to beat just a little faster at the horrid realisation that he'd been staring. Beetee cleared his throat and looked towards Dolly, who stood barely a foot above him. "So, any idea who'll be going in with me?" His voice had become small. He could almost feel the anxiety that fell off him in waves.

"No," Dolly replied, turning to face him fully. "I've gotta rush and get ready. Get yourself signed in and I'll see you later." She unwound one arm to pat his shoulder, leaving her hand there as a ghost for a short second.

"See you." Beetee brushed passed her and went to check in.

And when it came to his turn, he shut his eyes tightly, letting out a whine as they pricked his finger. He caught the snickers from those behind him and walked forwards like the horribly young child he felt like.

_I'm going to die_.


End file.
